My Love

In the end he needs a little bit

And left on his collarbone a little bite mark

For all your fantasy and freedom

After all he was only so young

Not sure how to write the scene

Reality is not just a neon umbrella

Fitful for one person

Glad we got extras

Can't separate phase and fate

Can't makeout reality from realità

Here's to drink to the forgotten

For-getting is all we do

If we wait fifteen minutes

Will the next train be emptier?

If we sit by the bar any longer

Will the street be emptier?

You took your souvenir to the next life

The bitemark become a birthmark

Or so it is claimed

A delicate Victorian mousetrap

With a ribcage full of flowers

And an artificial limb

Installed not instilled

Let me be your vertigo

Still dizzy from blood loss?

I'm sorry for your loss

The only solution is down

I see you in the other side of Inferno.

January 2025

By Aran Meredith